


the lyre of orpheus

by teenytabris



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Constant Greek Tragedy References, First Kiss, Gay Bucky Barnes, M/M, Orpheus and Eurydice, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War, Sick Steve Rogers, bedside confessions, supportive parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 05:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20652125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teenytabris/pseuds/teenytabris
Summary: His music and grief so moved Hades, king of the underworld, that Orpheus was allowed to take Eurydice with him back to the world of life and light. Hades set one condition, however: upon leaving the land of death, both Orpheus and Eurydice were forbidden to look back. The couple climbed up toward the opening into the land of the living, and Orpheus, seeing the Sun again, turned back to share his delight with Eurydice. In that moment, she disappeared.--“Steve, I thought to myself that I loved you like Orpheus loved Eurydice. Thought nothing of it at the time, Greek tragedies are full of lovers. Never seems to work out for them. Thought that it was just that, a thought. That it didn’t matter where you went, I’d come find you.“But Orpheus looked back, Steve. He went down, bargained for her, played her up to the surface. And just before he got her back, after he’d gone all that way, he looked back. And he was given one small glimpse, and she was gone forever, and Steve- I’d- I’d look back.”





	the lyre of orpheus

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution to CapSeptender!
> 
> Huge thanks to [Em](https://twitter.com/em_dibujsb) for the idea, so this is for you, honey!
> 
> EDIT 13/11: Now with art by [Inflomora!](https://twitter.com/inflomora_art)

_Bucky, 17. Steve, 16_  
  
Winifred was tending to dinner when she heard the front door open and close. “George? That you?” She called out, expecting her husband to answer, but got nothing more than the smallest gasp of breath, barely audible over the sounds of the kitchen. She ran through who was home, Becca and Nicky got back from high school earlier, and she’d gone and got Jenny herself, so that just left-  
  
“Jamie? James, sweetheart, that you?” She tried.  
  
And heard a choked off sob. Winifred immediately abandoned the kitchen, flying out the room to the hallway, to see her eldest son curled up against the wall, hands fisted in his hair. “Jamie! Jamie, Jamie, sweetheart, what’s wrong? What happened?” She said, heart in her throat as she knelt next to him, running her hands up and down his arms. He was shaking, and her pulse beat wildly- was he hurt? He didn’t seem hurt, and he would’ve told her if he was, she was sure of it. He’d said he was going to see Steve after school and-  
  
Oh. Oh god, no, not Steve-  
  
“Honey? Did...did something happen with Steve? Is he okay?” The boy was like another son to Winifred, as much part of the family as the rest of her children, and if something had happened to the poor sickly thing, well. She would be as heartbroken as her son.  
  
“Not...not to him,” James said finally, and lifted his head. His eyes were red-rimmed, his lips trembling. He hadn’t let his tears fall, not yet, but Winifred could see them so clearly, brimming along his lashes.  
  
“Then what’s wrong? Love, there is nothing you can’t tell me, all right?” Winifred tried to soothe, relieved that Steve was at least physically okay, though if he had done something to hurt James...what on Earth was she thinking? Steve hurting James. That was as unlikely as pigs flying.  
  
James took in another sobbing breath, and his hands fell from his hair to tighten around Winifred’s wrists. She tried to pat the underside of his arm gently, trying to soothe. “Is...is there something I could do- could- is there something I could do to make you hate me?” He asked finally, his voice quiet and terrified and Winifred’s heart broke.  
  
“My boy, my darling, darling boy, there is nothing. Absolutely nothing. Because you are so good, and you have such a good heart, whatever you did I know you would do for good reasons. And if it was a mistake? I may be mad, I might even be disappointed, but I will never, ever hate you. Ever,” Winifred said firmly, leaning in close to him.  
  
James’ tears spilled over his eyes then, and he let go of her wrists to wrap his arms around her waist, shoving his head into her shoulder. Winifred wrapped him up as closely as possible, patting his hair, making low, soft soothing noises.  
  
Eventually, James seemed to calm enough to pull back a little, though he couldn’t meet Winifred’s eyes. Whatever had happened had rattled her boy good, and she would tear whatever that was apart.  
  
“Come on now, let’s get away from the door. Your father’ll be home any moment, and we’ll wanna make sure he can get in, yeah? Let’s put you on the couch, we can talk about what’s happened,” Winifred urged, and while James shuddered at the mention of his father, he let Winifred get him upright, down the hallway, and into the living room. He curled in on himself once he was seated on the couch, looking pale and sick.  
  
Becca and Nicky stuck their heads into the room, looking worriedly at their older brother, and Winifred caught their eye, put a finger to her lips and nodded out of the room. Becca stood up a little straighter, grabbed her twin, and pulled him out of sight. A leader, her Becca, thought Winifred.  
  
“Now, sweetheart,” Winifred said, sitting next to James, wrapping an arm around him, pulling him back to her. “What’s happened? Was there a fight?”  
  
James shook his head against her shoulder, and she heard him take an exhale of breath, could practically feel the words building in his throat-  
  
“Freddie?” Came George’s voice, and James winced against her.  
  
“In here, George!” Winifred called back, holding James tighter. What had him so afraid of his father? She’d never seen him raise a hand to his son, the way other fathers had. George had seen enough of violence and fear himself, and Winifred had held him through nightmares enough to know that he was a gentle man. What was James so afraid of?  
  
George came through, shucking his overcoat and hat off, throwing his briefcase down. “The day I’ve had Freddie-” he started, but stopped immediately upon seeing James curled into his mother like a child.  
  
Winifred could see the way worry broke her husband’s heart, and he crossed the room to kneel at their feet. “Jamie boy, what’s happened?”  
  
“Da...I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” James sobbed, cringing into Winifred.  
  
“No, no, James, none of that. What happened?” George said, and Winifred could see how his hand shook.  
  
“You can tell us anything, Jamie,” Winifred crooned, combing her fingers through James’ hair.  
  
“I-” James started, coughing through a sob, then took in a shaky breath. George rested a hand on James’ knee.  
  
“I don’t think I’m....I’m normal,” James admitted, sounding terrified.  
  
Winifred and George shared a look, and then turned back to look at their son. “What do you mean, Jamie?” George pressed gently.  
  
“I- I...I don’t...” James took in a breath, and pulled away from Winifred to sit up, hands on his knees, that then turned into fists. Winifred watched, every breath painful.  
  
“I think about boys like I should about girls. I don’t...I don’t think about girls when people talk about romance. I...I’m-” James angrily dashed away a tear, and then doubled over, hands fisted in his hair. “I’m a queer. I’m queer. I’m sorry!” The last word, for as quiet as it was, held every bit of pain in the world.  
  
Winifred’s heart broke, just shattered across the floor.  
  
George stood, and left the room.  
  
“Dad-” James started, head shooting up, eyes frantic and terrified, but resigned. He’d expected pain and rejection and-  
  
Winifred eased her hand into one of his. “Steve?” She asked gently.  
  
James gave her a scared look, his storm-blue eyes never look more tempestuous. “I- I think I’ve always-” he whispered.  
  
Winifred squeezed his hand tighter.  
  
James cringed again when his father returned, but all George did was drape the blanket from his bed around his shoulders, tucking it firmly in around him, and then tugged his son into a hug. James gasped in surprise, shaking, and then cried, loudly and brokenly into his father’s shoulder.  
  
Winifred’s free hand came up to cover her mouth, stifling her own sobs.  
  
“It’s okay. It’s okay, Jamie. You’re okay. You’re my boy. You’ve always been my boy, that will never stop,” George said fiercely, and Winifred would marry this man all over again.  
  
“I’m sorry-” James started again, but George shushed him.  
  
“No. No, none of that. The Lord saw fit to make you this way, and I'm not the one to judge his creations. But, Jamie-” George pulled away, just far enough to look James in the eye, one hand resting on his shoulder. “You're...damn. Damn it, but you're gonna be in danger your whole life. You gotta be extra careful, you hear me? You don't go getting into any trouble, all right? I'll be in your corner, no matter what-”  
  
“We both will,” Winifred said fiercely.  
  
“-always. But Jamie, please. Please, please, watch your back. Watch yourself.”  
  
James nodded, and then sank straight back into his father’s arms, Winifred sliding over to join the hug.  
  
Her brave boy.  
  
\--  
  
_Bucky, 19. Steve, 18_

  
“Thank you, Buck.” Steve looked up from the key, giving Bucky a hard look. “But I can get by on my own.”  
  
God, he was stubborn. Full of stupid pride.  
  
“The thing is,” Bucky said, on a breath. “You don’t have to.” What he wanted to do was pull Steve in, wrap him up as tightly as he could, maybe just flat out carry him all the way to his parent’s place, but he’d been friends with Steve Rogers for fifteen years, and he knew exactly how far he could be pushed. So he went in easier, simply reaching out and grabbing his shoulder. “I’m with you ‘til the end of the line, pal.”  
  
Steve’s smile was small, rueful, and absolutely fucking heartbreaking.  
  
After a moment, Bucky dropped his hand, and Steve dropped his head for a moment, taking in a breath. Just cry, Steve. Just let yourself fucking cry, Bucky begged in his head, but the next thing that happened was Steve turning away to unlock his door.  
  
“You should go. Becs’ ‘s probably waiting for you,” Steve said, and Bucky sighed.  
  
“Yeah. I’ll come by though, few days? You working Friday?” Steve shook his head. “Swell. I’ll drop by, okay?”  
  
“Sure, Buck.” He opened his door, and with another tiny smile at Bucky, went inside. Bucky didn’t turn around immediately, slumping against the railing, running a hand over his face. When Steve had disappeared after the funeral, and was no where to be seen at the wake, Bucky had been terrified he was going to drag someone down an alley and fight his feelings out, so when he tracked him down back to the cemetery, saw him sitting between his parents graves, the look on his face blank, Bucky had wished that the former had happened.  
  
Now, with a door between them and an ocean of unsaid things, Bucky felt more lost than he had in years. He was cognisant of the fact that the Barnes’ were the only family Steve had left now, and he had no blood ties to them. Winifred and George would not hesitate to formally adopt the punk, but Steve-  
  
Steve had always had the idea that he was supposed to go it alone, with his fights, his health, everything. Even when Bucky had stepped in beside him and refused to ever leave.  
  
Hell, even if he wasn’t deeper in love with Steve than Orpheus had been for Eurydice, he’d still be there.  
  
Bucky stayed waiting at the door, half hoping it would open again, but it wasn’t until he heard the tiniest, softest sob, muffled through the wood, that he headed back down the stairs, not wanting to leave Steve, but knowing that’s what he wanted.  
  
Becca waited at the foot of the stairs, hands tucked into her jacket, kicking at gravel in her Sunday best shoes.  
  
“Ma’ll kill you if you scuff them,” Bucky said, and got an eye roll in response.  
  
“Thought you were gonna camp out in front of his door,” Becca said, no heat and no accusation in it.  
  
“I’ve half a mind to, but I doubt Steve’d see it as care or worry and more like hovering,” Bucky replied, looping his arm through hers, the both of them heading back out onto the street, heading for home.  
  
“His ma just died, he needs people who care around him more than ever right now,” Becca muttered darkly.  
  
“Yeah, but Steve won’t see it like that. It’s not like when grandma died, and the neighbourhood rallied around Ma. Anyone rallied around Steve right now he’d see it like they thought he was weak.”  
  
“Well, that’s dumb.”  
  
“I’ve never claimed Steve to be smart.”  
  
“Yeah, well, either are you. Peas in a fucking pod.”  
  
“Language, Becs. You’re not gonna get a husband at this rate.”  
  
Becca fell quiet, and Bucky felt a familiar surge of panic. He looked at her, and saw her looking up at him, rueful smile nearly matching Steve’s earlier.  
  
“You too, huh?” He said quietly.  
  
Becca waved a hand. “If it hasn’t happened by now, when does it start?”  
  
She was 17, same as he had been. Two years later, and he agreed with her readily.  
  
“Nicky know?”  
  
“He’s the first I told. He told me he would throw down any asshole that dared looked at me sideways.”  
  
“An attitude Steve would be proud of.”  
  
Becca laughed. “Where’d you think he learned it off?”  
  
Bucky nudged her, and then looked at her properly. Becca had inherited all their father’s dark hair, storm eyes and strong jaw that Bucky had, but she had the steel-spine of their mother. She was gonna shake the world, she was, he could see it. He wanted to see it.  
  
“Just...be careful, Becs.”  
  
Becca leaned into his arm. “Girls get less scrutiny than boys. Can probably get away with more.”  
  
“Don’t push it. People ain’t kind.”  
  
“I know that, Bucky. I hear the same words thrown around you do.”  
  
They passed the next few streets in silence, still clinging to each other, only letting go once they were mounting the steps to the Barnes’ brownstone. Bucky let them inside, and they shucked off coats, hanging them by the doorway, the words lingering around their heads, but they paid them no extra attention. They didn’t need to.  
  
\--  
  
Friday rolled around, and Bucky forced himself to wait until midday before announcing he was heading to Steve’s. Winifred poked her head out of the kitchen. “Give him our best, Jamie. Oh, actually!” She came fully out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. “Take the stew. Steve needs a good meal. Or four.”  
  
“I can’t imagine he’s eaten well these past days. Thanks, Ma,” Bucky said, kissing her cheek.  
  
“I’ll carry it for you, Buck!” Becca said, already darting into the kitchen to lift the pot off the stove, managing to turn off the flame with a bump of her hip.  
  
“She says that like I don’t have a choice,” Bucky said to his mother, who winked at him.  
  
“A whirlwind, our Rebecca.” She hugged Bucky again, and he squeezed back gratefully. “Please make sure Steve knows he can come here anytime. We’ve got a spare bed for him, and a window with plenty of light.”  
  
“I’ll drag him here if I have to, Ma,” Bucky said, and kissed his mother’s cheek. “All right, Becs, if you’re coming, let’s get goin’.”  
  
“I wanna come too!” Jenny said, suddenly appearing at Bucky’s side, 14 and trembling with conviction. And fever.  
  
“Absolutely not, Jenny. You’ve got to get way way better before you can go anywhere near Steve,” Winifred said sternly. “Do you think we kept you home from school for fun?”  
  
“But maaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!” Jenny whined. And then coughed. Bucky took that as his cue to escape, meeting Becca by the door, taking the pot so she can slip her jacket on, and then they headed down the street, treading the well-worn path to the Rogers’ place.  
  
Or just Steve’s, place, Bucky supposed, with an ache in his heart for Sarah.  
  
He let Becca knock for him, as he still held the heavy pot, but yelled out, “Rogers! Open the door!”  
  
Nothing.  
  
“If he’s ignoring me, I’m gonna wring his neck,” Bucky muttered to Becca.  
  
She snorted. “Yeah, course you would,” she said, with a roll of her eyes.  
  
“Shaddap,” he drawled, kicking at her lightly. “Knock again. Let the door have it.”  
  
Becca thumped on the door. Still nothing. Bucky couldn’t even hear anyone moving around inside.  
  
“You sure he didn’t have work today?” Becca asked.  
  
“He said he didn’t. I don’t know why he’d lie about that, if he didn’t want me round he’d have said so,” Bucky said, brow furrowed. Steve knew he’d be coming around Friday, if he’d had to leave he would’ve left a note or something, surely. Bucky put the pot down next to the door. “Stay here, keeping knocking. I’ll ask the neighbours.”  
  
Bucky headed down the hall to Steve’s closest neighbour, Louis and Maeve Cooper, and knocked on their door. Louis opened it seconds after Bucky knocked, and grinned when he saw him. “Buckster! How’s it going?”  
  
“Hey, Louis. Just asking after Steve, he gone out at all?”  
  
Louis frowned, and looked down the hall to where Becca was intermittently knocking on the door and calling Steve’s name. “No, haven’t seen him since Tuesday. Dropped in to offer condolences, Sarah was a wonderful woman. Haven’t seen him since.”  
  
“I told him I was comin’ by, I figured if he had to leave he’d have left a note or told you or something. You haven’t seen him at all?” Bucky asked, and really started to feel panic.  
  
“I’ll ask Maeve, two ticks.” Louis disappeared into his apartment. “Maeve! Honey, you seen Steve Rogers since Tuesday?”  
  
“No! I tried to go yesterday, give him some leftovers, but he didn’t come to the door!” Came the shouted reply.  
  
Louis came back to the door, giving Bucky a shrug. “Sorry, Buck, I don’t know. Any chance he’s gone to a relative’s?”  
  
“He ain’t got no one else,” Bucky said, and yeah, yeah panic had changed into full blown terror. “Listen, if I was gonna try and break in-”  
  
“I didn’t hear nor see nothin’,” Louis said, crossing his heart.  
  
“Thanks, Louis.” Bucky headed back to Steve’s, Louis shutting the door behind him. Bucky took his coat and scarf off, bundling them beside the pot.  
  
“You done this before?” Becca said, peering at Bucky worriedly.  
  
“Yeah, though not since we were kids.” Bucky grabbed onto the railing, hauling himself over the side, reaching out for the fire escape on the other side. “Used to break in when Steve was off school sick. The gap didn’t look as big then.”  
  
“And you can’t just...go downstairs and get the ladder?” Becca worried her lip between her teeth.  
  
“It’s stuck, you gotta get it from the top.” Bucky’s stomach churned. Thank god Steve’s place was only three floors up. Any higher and his fear of heights would’ve stopped any courage he could summon. His fingers just brushed the railing of the fire escape, and he sighed. He was gonna have to jump it. “Becs, if I die, punch Steve for me?”  
  
“I’ll make sure he bruises,” Becca said, smiling, even though she was now wringing her hands.  
  
Bucky hauled himself up, standing on the railing, bracing one hand on the wall of the tenement, and took a deep breath in. He crouched, sent up a quick prayer, and pushed off, jumping as far as he could push himself, heart beating wildly in his throat-  
  
And then he was catching himself on the railing, and hauling himself over, feeling a cold sweat break out over his body. “Fucking A,” he muttered.  
  
“Whoo! Gold medal!” Becca called out, applauding, and Bucky turned to shoot her a grin and a bow.  
  
Then he focused on forcing Steve’s living room window open, knowing from years of sneaking in that if he forced it in one corner first, the latch would come loose and he could sneak in. The window gave, and he pushed it up, slipping inside a little awkwardly, he wasn’t as skinny as he used to be.  
  
Once inside, the place was deathly quiet. There was little evidence that Steve had been there at all, no dishes, no half done sketches, no flyers for the latest cause he was protesting.  
  
“Steve? Pal, you here?” Bucky called out, hearing his voice waver. Had Steve skipped town? Would he do that?  
  
There was no reply, but Bucky thought he could hear a floorboard creak in Steve’s bedroom, so he cautiously headed across to it, now worried he might not be the first person to break in, if Steve really had skipped down. Bucky was a boxer, he could probably take someone down, but-  
  
The bedroom door swung open, and Steve slumped into the doorway. Bucky let out a huge breath of relief, nearly laughing with how dizzy it made him feel. “Steve, fuck, you scared me half to-”  
  
“Buck...” Steve said, and his voice was raspy, weak, and Bucky stopped in his tracks, taking him in properly. Steve was clinging to the door frame, his entire body shaking. He was paler than Bucky had seen him in years, and- he was still in the clothes from the funeral.  
  
Steve lifted his head, and Bucky felt his entire body go cold. His blue eyes were glassed over, there was no colour in his cheeks, in fact, the only colour on his face was a trickle of blood coming from the corner of his lips.  
  
“No,” Bucky gasped, and then shouted in alarm when Steve’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he collapsed.  
  
He hit the floor before Bucky could get to him, his head smacking against the wood with a solid thump. The sound echoed in Bucky’s head, loud and sickening enough to make bile rise in his throat. Bucky fell to his knees beside Steve, pulling him up into his arms, trying to cradle him and check his head for blood.  
  
Steve was completely limp, and if it wasn’t for the tiniest shift in his chest, he’d look dead already. God, was he already sick on Tuesday? How the fuck did Bucky miss it? Bucky could always see when Steve was getting sick, knew the signs better than he knew the hymns, the stars in the sky. If Steve had been sick and Bucky had ignored it to save Steve’s pride, he would never, ever forgive himself.  
  
“BUCKY! BUCKY, FOR FUCK’S SAKE, WHAT IS HAPPENING!?” Becca was screaming outside the door, and Bucky could hear her trying to shoulder her way in. He lifted Steve into his arms (god, he was so light, skin and fucking bones, and Bucky would never forgive himself), making sure Steve’s head was cradled against his shoulder, before heading to the door, and flicking the lock open with one finger, not letting Steve go for a second. He stepped back enough to let Becca through, and when the door swung open, Becca took one look at Steve’s limp body, and tears sprang to her eyes.  
  
“Get the doctor. Now,” Bucky begged, and Becca turned and ran back the way they came. Louis and Maeve, clearly having heard Becca screaming were right behind her, Maeve crying out when she saw Steve.  
  
“Can you get my parents? Please, I can’t-” Bucky’s voice broke, but Louis nodded.  
  
“I’ll be right back, Bucky, you stick with him.” And Louis took off too.  
  
“Get him on his bed, Bucky, I’ll get some things,” Maeve ordered, turning back to her place.  
  
Bucky listened to her, taking Steve back into his bedroom, and gagging at the bile on the floor. “Steve, you fucking idiot, why didn’t you send for me?” Bucky whispered into his hair, as he gently lay him on the sweat-soaked sheets. First chance he’d get, he would change them. Clean the floor.  
  
But right now, he couldn’t do anything more than keep his fingers pressed to Steve’s throat, feeling the tiny, weak pulse. Proof he was there, that he hadn’t-  
  
God, if Bucky hadn’t come today, the next time he tried to come by, would Steve have already died?  
  
The thought choked Bucky, wrapped spindly, bloody fingers around his throat, making every breath feel like knives, shards of glass. Steve, dying in here, alone.  
  
Steve, leaving Bucky.  
  
Bucky, expected to live on without him.  
  
Bucky bent over Steve, pressing his forehead into Steve’s ribs, feeling every ridge, and let tears fall. Why the fuck not, right? He’d been careful. He’d been so careful, his whole life, he’d kept the right distance, said the right things, all to keep Steve in his life. Keep suspicion of himself, to protect Steve too. Well, if he was gonna lose the only boy he’d ever loved, what was the point? What reason did he have to hide the way he loved Steve?  
  
He only lifted his head when he heard Maeve return, carrying a steaming pot and a few rags of cloth. “Here, we’ll clean him up a bit and-” She saw the state of the room, and Bucky saw tears spring to her eyes. “I should’ve come earlier,” she said through clenched teeth.  
  
“Me too,” Bucky agreed, his voice weak and watery. Maeve’s eyes drifted down to the way he still had fingers against Steve’s throat, and her lip trembled.  
  
“Well. We can help him now, that’s what matters. I know I said put him on his bed, but we’ll change him to the couch. That way I can clean things up in here and you can watch him,” she said, shaking her head and taking command. Bucky was grateful for that, because he was only good for watching Steve. Taking his hands away from him right now was death to him.  
  
Bucky gently lifted Steve again, pausing to stop himself from sobbing when Steve’s head limply fell back, his neck not even supporting it, and moved him onto the threadbare couch, making sure that he had a pillow under his head and was covered properly in a blanket. He sat on the floor next to Steve’s head, one hand back on his throat, the other stroking through greasy blond hair.  
  
He barely noticed when Becca and Louis returned, doctor, Winifred and George in tow, but when someone gently tried to pull him away from Steve, Bucky cried out in alarm, thrusting his elbow back. He can’t he can’t, he can’t be taken away, not now, leave him, leave him-  
  
“Shh, shh, Jamie, it’s okay, it’s okay. The doctor just needs to check him, come on now, that’s the way,” George’s voice was soft, but brooked no argument as he took hold of Bucky and pulled him back, Bucky loathe to move, enough that his breath caught in his throat again, like his lungs wanted to match Steve’s.  
  
Then at least they’d both go. That was a blessing, right?  
  
Winifred wrapped her arms around Bucky, and he could feel hot tears on his neck. She had just lost her dear friend, and now she might lose the boy she considered as much a son as Bucky. And, if Steve went, Bucky had no doubt in his mind he’d be quick to follow. The thought filled him with so much guilt, so he pressed himself back into Winifred, and felt her arms tighten.  
  
George stood next to the doctor, nodding his head as he explained the symptoms, the problems, the way to solve it, but it was just words to Bucky. He had to rely on his family to know what to do from a medical perspective, because all he could do, all he could put his mind to, was curl up next to Steve’s body and hope that Steve could just take his strength, take his health, take it all.  
  
George and the doctor moved away from Steve, and Bucky immediately launched himself back to Steve’s side, hands sliding back to exactly where they were. His pulse was still there, and Bucky’s careful, trembling strokes through his hair earned him the slightest flicker of Steve’s bruised eyelids.  
  
“...we’re gonna clean the room, make sure he’s got clean sheets. Then we’ll try getting some water into him,” a voice was saying. Maeve?  
  
“I just don’t know how this could’ve happened. When I saw him, I thought- God forgive me, I thought he might’ve caught it from Sarah-” His mother?  
  
“Thank God it’s not that. And don’t blame yourself, ma. Steve’s never been one to tell people he’s sick. Not even Bucky.” Becca.  
  
“Damn his stubborness. Well. We know what to do. Let Bucky watch him, we’ll do the rest.” With that, there was a flurry of activity in the apartment, but Bucky’s entire world was narrowed down to watching the smallest rise and fall of Steve’s bony chest, and hoping to any god, demon, saint, whatever was listening, that if they had to pick between them, that Bucky would rather fall.  
  
\--  
  
Louis, Maeve, Becca, Nicky and his parents all took turns cycling through the apartment, making sure there was food, that it was clean, that Bucky needed help caring for Steve, but Bucky didn’t leave. The furthest he got from Steve was the rooms next door, to get food, or water, prepare Steve’s medication, the bare minimum of survival or taking care of him. That was all. The rest of the time he was sitting next to Steve, two fingers on his pulse, the other touching Steve’s hair, his shoulder, holding his hand under the covers.  
  
Once night fell, and he and Steve were alone, Bucky would climb onto the bed, and wrap himself carefully around Steve, pressing himself along his body, only able to sleep if he could feel Steve’s breathing. Even then, every miniscule movement Steve made was enough to wake him, send Bucky barrelling into panic that he was about to watch Steve slip away, watch him go to the one place Bucky couldn’t follow him. Steve, with his good heart and bravery, his pure golden soul, he’d get his wings. Bucky was destined for the flames, and he would welcome them, if he failed Steve now.  
  
One night, a week after he’d found Steve, Bucky curled alongside him, and without warning, started sobbing. It hurt. It burned through his whole body, the way his heart ached. God, it was unfair! There was no fucking justice left in this world, nothing right or good or whole if Steve died. Steve, who held his head up every second through that funeral, who busted his ass for weeks, working himself to the bone so his mother would still have the apartment, could feel at home while she died. Steve, who dragged bullies away from their victims, burning with righteous anger and defending everyone with those biting fists and sharp elbows- Steve had more humanity in his pinky finger than the entirety of New York’s elite put together.  
  
“I don’t care what you do to me,” Bucky said, voice loud in the quiet room. He didn’t even know who he was talking to, but it had to be said. He had to say it. “I don’t care. Burn me. Rip me to shreds. You can do whatever you want. I’ll accept anything with a fucking smile. But you take him from me- you dare to take him- you don’t give him back, right the fuck now, there is no where- no. Fucking. Where. You can hide where I won’t find you. And I’ll make you feel this. This helplessness, this pain, I’ll give it back to you tenfold. A hundredfold.”  
  
Bucky pressed his lips to Steve’s temple, feeling Steve shiver through his illness, still fighting. “Give him back,” Bucky murmured, squeezing his eyes shut, not that it stopped the tears any. “Just give him back. I’ll go down the steps. I’ll burn for it. But I can’t lose him now. Please.”  
  
Steve’s fingers, trapped between his stomach and Bucky’s side, trembled.  
  
\--  
  
“Sorry, Barnes. But he can’t cover for you no more,” Jackie said at Steve’s door, hat being wrung between his hands.  
  
Bucky shrugged. He’d expected this days ago. “I don’t blame him. It’s okay. Is there any chance I could get it back when Steve’s well again?”  
  
Jackie looked sympathetic, which told Bucky the answer was almost definitely no. Bucky shrugged again.  
  
“Again, no blame to him. Thanks for coming, Jackie.” Bucky turned away, and made to close the door.  
  
“Barnes, hey. I know he’s like your family, but-” Jackie started and Bucky winced, his hand tightening on the door.  
  
“If you’re gonna ask me if he’s worth my job, Jack, I might punch you," he said, voice low and shaking.  
  
Jackie raised his hands. “Sorry, wrong timing. Seriously, Barnes. I hope he pulls through.” He put the hat back on his head, waved, and headed back down the stairs. Bucky shut the door, leaned his head against it, and sighed. He took in a few deep breaths, and then pulled away, turning to head back into Steve’s room.  
  
Becca sat at the foot of Steve’s bed, Nicky on the floor by her feet. Bucky took his usual spot in the chair beside his bed, replacing his two fingers against Steve’s neck.  
  
“Buck?” Nicky asked, after a few moments of silence. Bucky grunted. “...when did you know?”  
  
Bucky looked up, and saw Nicky lean his chin on his folded arms, his face worried, and curious. Bucky looked up at Becca, who shrugged.  
  
“When did I know I was queer?” Bucky asked.  
  
“When did you know you loved Steve not like a brother?” Nicky asked, and Bucky was surprised at how his voice hadn’t shaken or stumbled. Bucky felt a surge of pride and gratitude for his brother.  
  
“It’s not like it was a lightning bolt or nothing, there wasn’t like, one day I wasn’t and then I was. I guess one day I just...knew?”  
  
“Yeah, but like, when?” Nicky urged, and Bucky cracked a smile.  
  
“You’re a nosy shit, aren’t you?” He teased, and Nicky stuck his tongue out at him. Bucky laughed, a little rough, and looked back at Steve’s face, heart sinking at the pallor of his cheeks. “Couple years back. Was when I properly knew. I guess I half-knew always, but it wasn’t till-”  
  
Bucky breathed in, looking over at his twin siblings. “-you know when you see something so beautiful, so perfect, you wonder how you never noticed how dull the world is in comparison? It’s like...you were so hungry, starved, but nothing you ate took the edge off. Then one day, you realise it’s because you were eatin’ the wrong thing.”  
  
“Poetry, Buck,” Becca said, but the tease fell flat when compared to her soft smile.  
  
Bucky waved a hand. “Steve’s the creative. I just fix shit.”  
  
“What would Steve say to that?” Nicky asked, shuffling closer to Becca, to rest his head against her thigh.  
  
Bucky tried to playfully glare at Steve, but what came out was weak as a kitten. “Well, if he woke up now, he could tell you,” he said, pointedly, begging.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Nicky said after a long moment.  
  
“What for, Nicks?” Bucky frowned at him.  
  
“That you can’t- that-” Nicky brushed away tears, and Bucky’s heart seized in his chest. “Well. That you can’t take your best guy out like I can Linney.”  
  
Bucky reached over to Nicky, to ruffle his hair. “None of that, Nicks. Not your fault. Not anyone’s fault. We deal with the shitty hand we get dealt. ‘sides,” he said, thumb stroking along Steve’s jaw. “I wouldn’t know how to not be in love with him.”  
  
Nicky turned his face away for a moment, and Bucky watched Becca gently soothe her twin, rubbing circles into his shoulder. Like those shoulders carried all the weight Bucky was supposed to.  
  
\--  
  
Bucky rested his head on Steve’s chest, ear pressed close to his heart. That weak pulse that had tormented him all these days echoed in his ear, rattling around his head, threatening to undo him. As if there was anything left of him to undo. He was undone, the threads that made him up scattered, messily, across the floor. A murder scene, here lies Bucky Barnes, only Steve Rogers can put him back together.  
  
Bucky felt tears slip from his eyes, dripping onto the fabric of Steve’s shirt. No big fierce sobs this time, no wracking breaths. Just water tipping from him like an inevitability.  
  
And like an inevitability, Bucky was confessing before he knew it. “Even if you were awake, you probably wouldn’t be able to hear me. Closer to your bad ear like this. Swear I’ll repeat it when you wake up, not fair to whisper words in the dark, not to you. But Steve-”  
  
He squeezed his eyes shut, curling his fingers against Steve’s hip, feeling the jut of his bone. “Steve, I thought to myself that I loved you like Orpheus loved Eurydice. Thought nothing of it at the time, Greek tragedies are full of lovers. Never seems to work out for them. Thought that it was just that, a thought. That it didn’t matter where you went, I’d come find you.  
  
“But Orpheus looked back, Steve. He went down, bargained for her, played her up to the surface. And just before he got her back, after he’d gone all that way, he looked back. And he was given one small glimpse, and she was gone forever, and Steve- I’d- I’d look back.”  
  
Bucky buried his face against Steve’s chest, trying not to heave the air from his lungs, trying to finish the words, say what his heart was aching to say. “‘s why I always got a hand on you, pal. Arm around your shoulder, hand on your elbow, all friendly like. Nothing they can be suspicious of, Da said I gotta be careful, and for your sake and mine I was. You cop enough from everyone without that too. But I had to, Steve. I had to touch you. I had to keep you close, to know you were there. Being away from you is like- it’s like being without a limb, without one of the senses. And yet I’d rather be blind, deaf and dumb than be without you.  
  
“So you can’t go. You can’t go down there. Coz I’ll follow you, Steve. I’ll make that bargain, and I’ll play you back up here. But I’ll look back. I’ll look back, because I need to know you’re there. I need to know- Steve-”  
  
Bucky reached up, and tucked his fingers under Steve’s jaw, feeling and hearing his pulse. “I love you selfishly, sure. It’ll kill me to see you with someone else, but I can handle a little death like that. Coz I’ll still see you. Can still put a hand on your shoulder. Just- don’t go. Steve, please...  
  
“Stay here. Just a bit longer.”  
  
\--  
  
It was habit by this point. Sit Steve up, gently, tip his head back to lean against Bucky’s shoulder, open his mouth, and then gently, slowly, feed him spoonfuls of broth. He didn’t need much encouragement to swallow, though Bucky would stroke his neck, the way the doctor showed him, to make sure Steve didn’t choke.  
  
Only this time, when Bucky was sat behind Steve, gently leaning his head back, Steve’s eyes fluttered open.  
  
Bucky nearly burst into hysterical sobs, managing to reign himself in, seeing the confusion, dizzy delirium, in Steve’s eyes.  
  
“...Bucky?” Steve asked, looking down at Bucky’s legs bracketing his sides, and Bucky’s heart lurched at Steve either knowing Bucky so well by his body or his actions alone.  
  
“Yeah, Steve.” God, Bucky’s voice was rough, sounding nearly as weak as Steve’s. “Yeah, I’m here, pal. How’re you feeling?”  
  
“Buck...I gotta...I gotta get up- the funeral,” Steve mumbled, bracing himself weakly on Bucky’s knees, trying to push himself out of bed. Bucky was quick to wrap an arm around his waist, holding him steady.  
  
“Funeral was two weeks ago, pal. You’ve been sick since,” he said gently, not wanting to alarm Steve too much, not in his half-conscious state. Bucky didn’t pay the vicious thought that Steve’s sickness had affected his memory any mind. That’s the kinda thing Bucky would question when Steve was properly aware of himself.  
  
“Oh. Was- was it nice?” Steve whispered, his body going limp against Bucky’s. His head fell into the crook of Bucky’s neck, and the urge to weep was near overwhelming.  
  
“Sarah was given the send off she deserved, Steve. Whole neighbourhood came out to give their condolences. Lotta love, lotta sadness,” Bucky murmured to Steve’s temple, Steve nodding along to his words.  
  
“Okay,” Steve said, and Bucky felt a small bit of fear for how pliant he was. He’s just sick, he chided himself. He’s gonna come good, always does.  
  
“You hungry? I’ve got some soup here,” Bucky said, lifting the bowl from the side table to show Steve.  
  
“I could eat,” Steve mumbled. He lifted his head from Bucky’s chest, and took the bowl from him, though his hands were still trembling.  
  
“All right. I’ll get you some water?” Bucky started to gently ease himself out from behind Steve, thinking he might appreciate the space. Steve made a strange, strangled noise, and Bucky immediately was terrified that he’d choked. “Steve? You okay?”  
  
Steve didn’t reply, but he did lean forward slightly, hunching over the bowl. Bucky frowned, but took that as a hint to get moving, at least until one of Steve’s hand seem to jolt towards his leg, as if going to make him stop.  
  
But that was a ridiculous thought, so Bucky made sure Steve had enough support to sit up on his own, and then retrieved a cup and a jug of water. He sat them at Steve’s bedside, and then sat on the bed once more, this time facing Steve.  
  
Steve was silent, finishing his soup, two glasses of water, and finally taking his medication, before his eyes fluttered shut once more. Bucky helped him to lie back down, but this time, rather than lying prone, Steve curled onto his side, one hand slipping under his pillow, his breath even, if still a little weak.  
  
Once Bucky was sure Steve was asleep, he slipped to his knees, taking Steve’s hand between his own, and pressed a kiss to every single scarred knuckle.  
  
“Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he wept, supplicating before him.  
  
\--  
  
Steve woke up a few more times, the gap between them growing shorter, and he looked and sounded clearer, stronger each time. Bucky still waited for him to sleep again before crying his thanks, his relief, but still promised that he would tell Steve everything. He’d scrape himself raw for Steve, the least he could do is tell him why.  
  
Bucky was at the kitchen, warming up stew for Steve, figuring that since he was sitting up on his own, and had even asked for his drawing things, he might appreciate something more substantial than thin broth, when he heard twin thumps, like Steve had fallen over.  
  
“Steve!?” Bucky called out in blind panic, twisting around to run into the bedroom, when he saw Steve haul himself up, using the door frame (eerily similar to how Bucky found him, his treacherous mind supplied), in his hand was the letter his mother had delivered early yesterday morning: written confirmation that Bucky had been fired by J. Moreson.  
  
“What is this!?” Steve accused, flinging the offending paper at Bucky. It floated down between them, Bucky staring at it in shock, before turning those same wide eyes on Steve.  
  
Steve, pale and shaking, but with spots of high colour on his cheeks, and furious, clear blue eyes turned on him.  
  
“You got fired!? How!? Why!?” Steve shouted, pointing at Bucky accusingly.  
  
Bucky’s mouth fell open.  
  
“Because if, god fucking forbid James Buchanan, it was because you sat here for two godforsaken weeks watching me-” Steve cut himself off, scoffing so menacingly, it was a shock the walls themselves didn’t bend over in shame. He glared at Bucky again, pink lips twisting. “-out of some stupid sense of guilt or whatever, losing your goddamn job when I can fucking eat soup on my own-”  
  
He was ranting, skinny arms waving around his head, gesticulating to God himself just how much of an idiot Bucky was, how stupid he was to give up good money for him, and Bucky-  
  
Bucky couldn’t handle it anymore.  
  
The sob tore itself out of Bucky’s chest like a gun shot, and he fell to his knees, doubled over, shoulders shaking.  
  
“Fuck, fuck,” Bucky gasped, arms wrapped around his middle.  
  
“...Bucky? Buck- what-” Steve’s anger was fully gone from his voice, worry and confusion taking it’s place, and Bucky couldn’t hold back anymore.  
  
He started laughing. “Oh my god, oh my fucking god, thank you. Thank whatever benevolent fucking spirit there is,” Bucky gasped out between bursts of hysteria, falling back on his ass, arms clinging around his sides. “Christ,” he said, wiping relieved, ecstatic tears from his eyes.  
  
“Bucky?” Steve’s voice was a lot closer, and Bucky looked up, to see him hovering over Bucky, looking like he was concerned he’d gone mad. “You...that’s really not how people usually react to getting yelled at,” he pointed out, uneasily.  
  
Bucky went back on his knees, raising himself up enough to press his face into Steve’s stomach, wrapping his arms around him tightly. “Never been so fucking happy to be yelled at by you, Stevie. Fuck- you were so quiet, even when you were awake, I would’ve died to have you ranting at me,” he said, making sure not to speak into Steve, making sure that he could hear him.  
  
Steve’s stomach trembled with stifled laughter. “So you have gone mad then,” he said, and Bucky closed his eyes, feeling long artist’s fingers thread through his hair. He tightened his hold on Steve.  
  
“Don’t care. Feel the sanest I’ve ever felt right now,” Bucky said. “If this is what insanity is, then fucking throw me in the sanitarium. Could give less of a fuck.”  
  
“Bucky...” Steve’s voice was heavy with something unsaid, so Bucky looked up. It was right, somehow, to be smaller than Steve. Steve was towering, at least in spirit, with more fire than the sun. Always felt wrong that Bucky stood a head above him. “I-”

  
  
“You can be as angry with me as you want, Stevie. You can rage at me till the sun swallows the Earth and we start the whole song and dance again. But just...just for now...” Bucky trailed off, and pressed his face back into Steve’s stomach, arms unwrapping so he could rest his hands on Steve’s hips.  
  
“I’m...I thought I was dreaming,” Steve whispered.  
  
Bucky looked up. There were tears in Steve’s eyes.  
  
“I could hear you,” Steve said. Bucky understood. His heart broke, but he understood.  
  
“Sorry. I- I’m sorry, Steve.” Bucky pulled back from him, letting his hands fall to his sides. “I can’t stop it. I know you don’t- I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted me to-”  
  
“Fuck’s sake, Bucky Barnes, you are half in love with the sound of your own voice, aren’t you?” Steve said, cutting him off with the biting tone Bucky was so familiar with. Didn’t half shock him into shutting up, staring up at Steve with confusion of his own. Steve crossed his arms over his skinny chest, angry tears clinging to his lashes.  
  
Bucky wanted to keep apologising, but Steve had a look that if Bucky opened his mouth again, he was gonna get a slap.  
  
Steve sighed, and his shoulders slumped. His hands tightened in the crooks of his elbows. Bucky braced himself, but didn’t look away.  
  
“I heard you. Mumbling about Greeks and tragedies. Sounded so mad I figured it was something my brain cooked up while I was half in and out. But I didn’t. And if I didn’t make that up, then-” Steve’s voice broke, and Bucky flinched as tears slipped down his cheeks, only to be angrily dashed away. “The rest was true too, right?”  
  
Bucky said nothing, and Steve swallowed.  
  
“It was, wasn’t it?” And there was something so tragic about that, Steve Rogers, begging for Bucky to confirm that Steve hadn’t made up Bucky’s feelings for him.  
  
Begging, like he had an investment in them being true.  
  
“Steve, I’m half mad in love with you,” Bucky said, voice sounding sure for how much he felt like a strong breeze would do him in. “Have been since God saw fit to put us on the Earth at the same time. It goes like, sun comes up, goes down, world spins and Bucky Barnes loves Steve Rogers.”  
  
Steve laughed, watery, weak, and Bucky grinned, heart too full, too hopeful, his head dizzy for possibility-  
  
And then Steve took his face in his bony hands, and leaned down, practically folding himself in half, to press dry, chapped lips to Bucky’s.  
  
Nothing more than a press. Just Steve and Bucky, pushing against each other, but for once not to win an argument. And maybe their dry lips became wet from salty tears, but could Bucky really be blamed? His best friend came back to life, full anger and fury, and somehow wanting Bucky’s love, and everything that meant.  
  
Steve pulled back, just enough to press their foreheads together. Bucky lifted a hand to press into Steve’s neck, feeling his pulse thud against his fingers.  
  
“You played me up, Bucky. You didn’t look back,” Steve said, and Bucky’s breath in shook and cracked.  
  
He pulled Steve back to him, kissing him, clinging to him, Steve sinking into his lap, skinny arms wrapping around Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky kept one on Steve’s neck, the other wrapping around his waist, holding him close. Keeping him there, keeping him close to Bucky-  
  
“You realise I’m definitely moving in now,” Bucky said, pulling back from Steve so suddenly, he had to stifle a laugh at the needy, bereft groan Steve let out, before his words registered and Steve’s eyes opened.  
  
And glared at him. “Don’t think this gives you any leverage, Bucky Barnes.”  
  
“Oh, it gives me plenty leverage. You think now that I know you love me you got any chance of getting rid of me?” Bucky said, fingers tickling the soft hair at the nape of Steve’s neck.  
  
Steve actually softened, dropping his head onto Bucky’s shoulder, like he couldn’t even look at Bucky for the flood of feelings. “You know that’s not gonna work every time,” he mumbled, and Bucky grinned, kissing Steve’s temple.  
  
“Yeah, well. I’ll keep trying my luck,” he said, and happily closed his eyes when Steve pressed their lips back together.


End file.
